


Gallimaufry

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [130]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Johnlock Fluff, Love note writing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gallimaufry: noun: ga-lə-ˈmȯ-frē: a confused jumble or medley of things.</p>
<p>1545-55;  Middle French galimafree kind of sauce or stew, probably a conflation of galer to amuse oneself (see gallant ) and Picard dialect mafrer to gorge oneself</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gallimaufry

John sighed and stared at the gallimaufry of crumpled paper, books, cartons of half eaten take-away and empty lager bottles. He rubbed his eyes and wondered what madness convinced him that he could write Sherlock a love letter. The blog was different, he could step back a bit and describe a crime scene, coldly state the facts of the case and somewhat dispassionately place his friend and lover amidst the chaos and create a story. 

Writing a love letter was risking his heart, and long ago he had convinced himself that he had buried those softer sides of himself to muscle his way through life. To open up those long unused parts of himself was harder than he thought possible.

"John?" Sherlock knocked on the door, and the scent of curry reminded him he hadn't eaten since...when? This morning when Mrs. Hudson forced a couple of warm scones on him? Idiot...

"Give me a minute, yeah?"

"Are you sure you are okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine, love, be out soon."

He heard Sherlock sigh and flounce to the kitchen."Great...flouncing...damn..."

He stacked all the books up and binned the mountain of rejects and the remains of the abandoned meals, then took a long, deep breath to face whatever was awaiting him in the kitchen.

"Sherlock..."

"Hmmm...?"

"I'm uhm...just trying to...damn...this is going to sound a bit silly..."

"Try me...you've been locked in your old room for a couple of days now except when you crawl into bed and then you are too tired to even kiss me good night..."

"Damn, love, I'm sorry. I'm trying to write you a love letter, so you know how much I cherish and adore you...and it's much harder than -"

Sherlock turned and looked into his blogger's exhausted eyes, and shook his head. "John Hamish Watson! Do you honestly believe I need that?"

"I wanted it for you. I needed to see it in black and white, I believed I could somehow separate out all the bits of you that I love and write you something that you could..."

"John. Look at me. It is there in how you look at me, in the way you touch me, and even in that way that you yell at me to eat and sleep when I can't allow myself to do it. Do you think I don't know all of that comes from great love?" He gently picked up John's left hand and put to his lips. "Now, we are going to have a curry and at least half a bottle of wine, then I'm going to put you to bed and when we wake up tomorrow, I'm going to make love to you. Any questions?"

John shook his head and allowed Sherlock to lead him to the almost cleaned off kitchen table, he sat down gratefully as Sherlock handed him a carton and a fork, then filled a mug with wine. "Mug is clean, I promise."

John was too tired to laugh, but saw the smile dance in Sherlock's opalescent eyes and he understood how unnecessary words were at the moment.


End file.
